


Never Lost at All

by Quaratina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby Harry Potter, Comfort, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Good Petunia Dursley, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Nice Petunia Dursley, Out of Character, POV Petunia Evans Dursley, Petunia is a good mom, Petunia realizes that she's made mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24123784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quaratina/pseuds/Quaratina
Summary: Petunia held great animosity inside her for many things—and people. Magic was on the top of that list. She could recognize, now that it was too late and Lily was already….was gone, that her hatred of anything and everything even remotely related to magic had always been born out of jealousy.Yes, Petunia loathed a great many things in life, but Harry Potter would never be one of them.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Petunia Evans Dursley & Harry Potter, Petunia Evans Dursley & Lily Evans Potter, Petunia Evans Dursley/Vernon Dursley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 254





	Never Lost at All

The boy was crying. Again. 

Petunia sighed and looked over at her husband. She knew for a fact he wouldn't get up for the boy. He didn’t even get up at Dudley’s cries. Not because he didn’t want to or because he was too lazy, but because Vernon Dursley could quite literally sleep through the end of the world and snore loud enough that one would think it _was_ the end of the world. But she knew that Vernon loved Dudley immensely, even if he wasn’t the one to soothe him at night. Vernon showed his love for his son, as well as his appreciation for his wife and her hard work in other ways. In fact, he was handling the whole situation quite well. Better than Petunia was, in all honesty. Vernon had even taken the last two weeks off of work in order to help her with the babies, so he was more than forgiven for his lack of nightly waking in Petunia’s eyes.

She sighed once more before throwing the covers off and padding down the hall. If she wasn't quick, her little Duddy would get fussy as well and dealing with _two_ fussy babies in the middle of the night was not something Petunia Dursley wanted to experience ever again. 

She opened the door to see Dudley still asleep (for that she was grateful) but across the room she saw big, green watery eyes. 

For now, it made sense that the boys shared a room. They were only babies after all and having them both in the same place was the easiest and quickest way for Petunia to reach either of them. It wasn’t like they were about to start complaining about their roommate anytime soon, anyway. Before Harry, she had planned on turning the smallest bedroom into a playroom for Dudley. That could still be possible, though Petunia assumed as the boys grew older and became teenagers, they would each want their own space. Perhaps she would turn the small bedroom into Dudley’s room and the current nursery into Harry’s, she mused as she entered the room. Just thinking about the future gave her a dull headache. 

Harry whimpered and let out another pitiful wail when he saw her, reaching his arms up and clenching his tiny fists, demanding to be held. Petunia complied with his wishes as she scooped the young boy into her arms, gently bouncing him up and down. "Oh Harry," she sighed, "what are we gonna do with you, eh?" she asked, gently rubbing his back. 

Harry hiccuped, his sobs slowly lessening as Petunia gently pulled away to clean up his face. She stared into his green eyes, so very much like Lily's it nearly physically hurt, as she wiped away a few stray tears from his chubby cheeks. "The nightmares will fade soon," she whispered, her fingers trailing through his soft baby hair. “I promise,” she whispered. Harry snuffled, leaning his head on her shoulder, his tiny fist clenching tight around her shirt. He snuggled impossibly closer to Petunia and her heart lurched as she immediately felt the weight of all that this child had lost; the weight of all that _she_ had lost, only a mere fortnight ago. 

Petunia held great animosity inside her for many things—and people. Magic was on the top of that list. She could recognize, now that it was too late and Lily was already….was _gone,_ that her hatred of anything and everything even remotely related to magic had always been born out of jealousy. When she was younger, she wanted so badly to be able to do the things her sister could. She wanted to go with her to that school and share the same experiences, _together_. 

Magic….magic had ruined their relationship. Or least that’s what Petunia liked to tell herself throughout the years. Now though? Well now it was hard to ignore the fact that _she_ was the one who had ruined her bond with Lily. Petunia just used magic as an excuse for all the ways that she had lashed out at her sister. But perhaps Petunia had a very real reason to hate magic now. Afterall, it was what ended up killing her little sister in the end.

Petunia held animosity for that wretched man Lily called her husband. Even if she had kept a strong relationship with her sister, she still would have hated James Potter. He was arrogant, rude, and immature. But….she supposed he must have done something right in order to raise such a sweet boy. 

Petunia looked down at the child in her arms whose eyes were still wide open. She sighed and started to hum a tune, a lullaby her own mother used to sing to her and Lily when they were young. She started swaying side to side, hoping the soft noise and gentle movement would lull the boy back to sleep as her own thoughts continued to spiral. 

Petunia held great animosity for _Albus Dumbledore_ , as well. It was a childish hope, she knew, writing her own letter to him and begging to go to Hogwarts like her sister all those years ago. But knowing it was childish hadn’t stopped her. She loathed him then, as much as a child her age could, and she still loathed him now. 

Opening a second letter from him years after the first had been worse than when she was merely a child. Much, much worse. 

For as often as Petunia had pushed her sister away, she knew. She knew immediately when she saw Harry on the front step that her sister was gone. But when she saw the word _murdered,_ she collapsed. Fortunately, she hadn’t been holding Dudley at the time. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs, there was a ringing in her ears, and the room was blurry and spinning. It took Petunia longer than she cared to admit to get herself back under control: to wipe away her tears and read the rest of the letter. For a long while after, she just sat and gazed at Harry who was sleeping soundly, unaware of the turmoil of his situation. 

Dumbledore left Harry outside in the middle of the night with only a letter to inform her of the death of her sister and brother-in-law. He couldn’t even be bothered to explain the situation to her in person, the _coward._ And poor Harry was freezing when she finally had enough wits to bring him inside and care for him. Not to mention the still red and angry scar on his forehead had needed minor medical attention. Luckily, it hadn’t been anything she couldn’t handle herself. If Petunia never received another letter from that man, she still wouldn’t be satisfied. 

But perhaps the greatest amount of animosity that Petunia carried deep inside her was reserved for her sister’s murderer: _Voldemort._ It was the type of hate that burned fierce and dark within her. From the moment she received news of her sister's death, the fury was always there, writhing just beneath the surface. It was a force of darkness, hatred of the strongest kind. It soothed the fire within her, bringing Petunia the worst kind of satisfaction. 

But Petunia recognized that Lily had been the most competent, strong, and intelligent person she ever knew, magic or otherwise. If that man could kill her and James, who was basically the magical equivalent of a police officer, then Petunia shivered just thinking about what he was capable of doing to her and her family. 

The fact that Harry had survived truly was remarkable and Petunia had never been more grateful for anything in her entire life. She could never begin to put right the number of ways she had wronged her sister, nor could she ever forgive herself for all of the pain she had caused Lily over the years. 

Yet taking care of Harry was a small step in the right direction. She could love Harry like her own son, just as Lily would have done for Dudley if God forbid anything had happened to Petunia and Vernon. 

Loving Harry like her own would be the farthest thing from a hardship. Especially when she had the privilege of looking into his eyes and feeling like she was seeing her sister again, almost as if she had never lost her at all. Because of Harry, she would always have a piece of Lily with her. 

Yes, Petunia loathed a great many things in life, but Harry Potter would never be one of them. 

Petunia exhaled as she gently smoothed a hand over her nephew's soft and already outrageous baby curls (clearly inherited from his father) and pressed a featherlight kiss to the top of his head. 

“I can’t promise life will be easy for you, Harry,” she whispered to the slumbering child. “In fact, I think it might end up being very difficult for a while. The burdens that you’ll face will not be fair, but I _can_ promise that you will be loved and that I will protect you no matter what; magic or no magic.”

Petunia carefully returned the child to his crib, smiling as his fist clutched at the baby blanket she draped over him. She stood, just watching him sleep for a moment before crossing the room to check on her own son. She pressed a soft kiss to his temple as well, tugging the blanket to better cover his small body. 

“Goodnight, my darlings. Sleep well.” She whispered into the quiet nursery. 

With that, Petunia carefully traversed back to her own room. She settled herself in bed and stared up at the ceiling. She glanced over at her husband and smiled fondly as he snorted in his sleep, rolling over to place his arm over her waist. She sighed and snuggled closer, taking comfort in his warmth. 

“They’ll be alright,” she whispered. “Our boys will be just fine.” 

Perhaps Petunia was making the promise to her sister, or maybe her sound asleep husband. Perhaps she was really just promising herself. 

Nevertheless, a promise is a promise and it would be kept for as long as Petunia lived.


End file.
